Page 39 of Leaving the Station
“Velvet-seat luxurious,” Oakley says. “Caviar-in-the-dining-car luxurious. And get this: she was wearing hertravel hat. She had a box for it and everything and wouldn’t stop adjusting it on her head. She isdeeplymother.”
“Sounds like it,” I say. “Why haven’t I seen her?”
“She slipped one of the attendants a hundo to bring everything to her sleeper car.”
“I love her,” I say as Alberto/Bert fusses. I bounce and he calms down.
“And he seems to love you,” Oakley says. “Would you ever havekids? You’re good with him.” She asks it so casually that I’m taken aback. It’s not a casual question.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “What about you?”
“Someday, probably,” she says. “Maybe one.”
“Don’t have one,” I tell her emphatically. “Being an only child is terrible. I grew up with my parents laser-focused on every little thing I did.”
“I’m sure being an only child is better than being the last of six.”
“What?”I ask. “Six?”
“You can’t be that surprised,” she says. “I thought that was the first thing everyone knew about Mormons, that they have a lot of kids.”
“Yeah, butfivesiblings?”
“‘And God blessed them,’” Oakley begins. “‘And God said unto them, “Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth.”’”
“Okay, but that’s, like, Old Testament shit,” I say. “That’s not unique to Mormonism.”
“You’re not wrong,” she says. “But I was also taught that there was a set number of spirit children in a premortal existence who were waiting in line for bodies, and it would benefit them to be born ‘in the covenant.’” She says all of this with a blank expression. “That’s why my parents had so many children—if the spirits are born into a Mormon family, they’ll have a leg up for the Second Coming.”
After a moment of surprise, I clear my throat. “So, one kid?” I say as lightly as I can, trying to bring the conversation back to themore surface-level place it had been before.
I like having fun with Oakley, but the more I learn—about her upbringing, her religion, her beliefs—the more I want to know.
And the more I begin to care.
Eight
Tuesday, 5 p.m., near Columbus, WI
“Edward, I’m baaaack,” I call, as if we’re an old married couple and I’m returning home after a long day at work. “And this is Oakley.”
I dragged her down here after returning Alberto/Bert to Elaine.
The café is located in a different spot on this train than the last: on the lower level of the observation car, down a steep staircase.
Edward gasps and points to Oakley. “Did you just board?”
She seems taken aback. “No? I’ve been traveling since New York.”
“And you haven’t come to see me?” He shakes his head “I’m glad Zoe helped you come to your senses.”
I don’t remember telling him my name, but I don’t question it. Chalk it up to train magic.
“I’m glad too,” Oakley says, grinning at me.
And I can’t help but smile back.
“You two are so cute.” Edward claps. “You know, I’ve officiated a number of train weddings.”
